


not the end and not the start

by brodinsons (aeon_entwined)



Series: A Little Less Miserable [3]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Hate Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 22:37:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/692311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeon_entwined/pseuds/brodinsons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Filling a <b><a href="http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/11667.html?thread=2051731#t2051731">prompt</a></b> on the kinkmeme:</p><p> <i>They've had sex before. More than once, actually. It had been hateful in Toulon, convenient at M-sur-M, desperate on those precious few moments on the barricade.</i></p><p> <i>But they never kissed.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	not the end and not the start

In Toulon, he had been no better than an animal. A vicious, feral thing to be tamed and used. Still, he managed to harness his hard-won strength and turn it against Javert when he had reached a breaking point. The guard may have had him more often than not, but there were exceptions. No matter who was where, it always tasted like hate. Like scarcely-tempered anger and the need to destroy. 

He spat in Javert's face more than once. It usually earned him an extra turn under the lash.

Still, there was an undeniable amount of satisfaction in witnessing Javert turn his gaze aside when he registered Valjean watching him for too long. Those moments went unmentioned, unpunished. Valjean still wonders why, on occasion.

***

The Mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer was a good man. He preached the word of the Lord and gave alms to the poor as often as any saint. He treated his workers fairly, and always ensured that there could be room for one more if such a thing were needed.

But, his past returned to dog his steps all too soon.

Upon seeing Javert for the first time since his release from Toulon, Monsieur Madeleine was Jean Valjean once again. The recognition that sparked in Javert's eyes was unmistakable. Valjean had debated taking flight that very day, but after spending a night in the chapel with nothing but his own questions and fears for company, decided against doing so.

Javert could have denounced him at any moment, but by the same card, it would have been the recently-arrived inspector's word against the lauded mayor's. Valjean's position gave him power, and Javert was smart enough to recognize that. So, it became a twisted game of tug-of-war. 

It started the evening Valjean suggested they dine together at his home to discuss the business of establishing a school for Montreuil-sur-Mer's poorer children over a civil meal.

The plates and utensils ended up scattered across the tabletop, their clothes were left in several rumpled piles on the floor. After, they both dressed in silence and Javert took his leave before Valjean could say anything more. And so it began. Sometimes it was quick and vicious; pressed against a wall with scarcely any room to breathe. Other times it was almost slow enough to be called something close to affection. But never quite there. 

They both used it to achieve their own ends. They held each other's future in their hands, and they used that knowledge to hurt, to bruise, to get even.

Then there was Cosette, and Valjean knew it was over.

***

The night of the barricade was a disaster.

Valjean cannot accurately describe the way his stomach twisted at the sight of Javert in the tavern; bloodied and leashed, and yet still proud.

Even after their encounter in the streets of Paris, he had thought himself free of the man. Little did he know that their fates were still irrevocably entwined. 

He dragged Javert into the alley behind the tavern, unable to keep his hands from straying, unconsciously seeking out reassurance that the man wasn't seriously injured. Javert suffered the repetitive touches in mulish silence, but when he sliced through the ropes binding the inspector's wrists, there was a spark in those familiar grey eyes that he would have had to have been a fool to miss.

It took no time at all to shove aside the necessary pieces of clothing. He had Javert against the cold wall of the alley, holding the inspector up with the strength of his own arms and the strong legs wrapped tight around his waist.

There was no time to enjoy the power he held or the willingness with which Javert gave himself over. There was scarcely enough time for the act itself. But they clung to each other, fingers twisted desperately in greying locks of thick hair, and it was enough.

He bit a harsh mark into the skin of Javert's throat when he found his climax, ensuring that it would remind the inspector of what had transpired between them whenever the collar of his uniform chafed against it.

As Javert had stumbled away, Valjean nearly called out to him. Suddenly, the idea of losing the one constant of his life seemed far more terrifying than it ever had before. But he did not. And when their gazes slid apart, Javert was gone.

***

"Javert—"

Valjean catches the man's wrist in one strong hand, steadying him as he sways on the parapet high above the Seine.

"Release me."

Valjean would laugh if he were able. As it is, he mutely shakes his head, tightening his hold on the man's wrist. "I cannot."

Javert seems to hunch into himself, attempting to flinch away from some unknown threat.

"You've taken everything from me. You will not take this."

Words, it seems, will not be enough this time.

Steeling himself, Valjean pulls Javert's hand closer, then presses his lips to the center of Javert's palm. The inspector's fingers twitch against his jaw, unbidden, but he doesn't pull away. He presses another kiss there, a benediction. Then another at the heel of Javert's hand. Then another on the delicate skin of his inner wrist.

They have never been this way. They have never been soft. It is new and entirely unpracticed. Valjean finds he enjoys it more than he expected to.

He turns Javert's hand over within his own, then drags his lips slowly along the ridge of Javert's knuckles. 

There's a choked sound from somewhere above his head, and when he glances up, he sees Javert's other hand covering his eyes, the familiarly proud shoulders trembling with the effort of restraining himself.

Hesitantly, Valjean presses another kiss to the center of Javert's palm, lavishing the flesh with every attention he possibly can. He flicks his tongue out, tasting sweat and gunpowder.

And it seems that is finally too much. 

Javert's legs give out beneath him as a ragged sob tears itself free of his throat, but Valjean is there, wrapping both arms tight round his waist and lowering him from the parapet. Javert clutches at his shoulders in a way that his pride usually would never allow, but Valjean enjoys it for the scant few moments he can.

He lowers himself to sit and leans against the low wall of the bridge, supporting Javert against his chest. The man sobs uncontrollably for long moments, but Valjean says nothing. He keeps his arms wrapped around Javert's chest in a protective embrace, his palms flat on Javert's sternum. He kisses the sloping line of Javert's shoulder, indulging in this newfound softness because it's allowed, now.

Valjean presses a kiss into the silvering hair above Javert's temple, then smiles.

The sobs have quieted, and Javert's hands have curled over his own, holding on in an almost proprietary fashion. He wouldn't trade it for the world.

"I think I could love you, if given the chance," he murmurs softly.

Javert shivers at the breath curling over the shell of his ear, but he presses back regardless. 

"Don't be ridiculous," he says, but his voice lacks any harshness. "I am impossible to love."

Valjean laughs softly, then extricates a hand in order to tilt Javert's face towards his. They gaze at each other for a moment, utterly silent. 

"You are deserving of it," he replies, as though stating a simple fact of existence. "And I will give it."

Javert swallows audibly, and Valjean cannot help himself. He bridges the minuscule gap between them, slanting their lips together. 

It's unpracticed and uncoordinated, but Javert doesn't seem to mind. He melts into Valjean's arms, exhaling the quietest sound into his mouth. Valjean's arms tighten on instinct. 

When they pull apart, they look at each other as if seeing each other for the first time. 

And perhaps they are.


End file.
